Paper plates don’t break the same way
as glass
they don’t shatter
into pieces
and fall apart
scattered on wooden floors
separated and detached
where was I then
when it all dropped?
Paper plates are thrown away
put into compost
piles heating up to be transformed
churning, turning,
mixed together in chaotic fashion
that doesn’t make sense
and doesn’t have to.
Flipped and tossed
breaking down in service to the garden
of growth
arriving at newness
regardless
a helpmeet.
Paper plates can tear in two
two halves that are their own
yet the same
tree of growth
they can fold and bend
like branches waving
and still remain
in thunder storms
and windy whispers that push them sideways
as clouds darken
and lightning strikes off in the distance.
She is dancing,
stomping,
howling,
clapping her hands together,
she doesn’t snap,
she curves,
gives,
twists,
and receives
swaying in mid air,
grounded.
Paper plates they can be cut
ripped
sliced
worn down with time
still they modify
their shape
not rigid nor holding on
nor kept in cabinets
or wrapped in plastic
for very long
they celebrate
a coming together
of diversity.
I’d rather be blowing out candles
making wishes
then washing one too many dishes.
I am learning this lesson
of impermanence
the way that sand castles return back to the sea
nothing lasts forever
locks of love come to change
when it is unlocked
and heads are shaved
it is love that remains
the past comes back
only to remind me of a new birth
a new me
what will my intention be?
“You are strong even though a very sensitive soul”
messages written on paper plates
in red ink
resonate with truth
a knowing that cannot or should not be denied
the fragility of what seems stable
depths of love
given
yet hardly received
out of that damn story of inadequacy
trying to keep me from being free
but my effort for change
is greater
my desire to discover
keeps calling
my devotion to rise above
is never ending
my commitment to love
is stronger
then that thought.